


Regarding Lance's Orgasms

by BleedingTypewriter



Series: Regarding Twitter (NSFW) [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Face-Fucking, Facial, Giving instructions, M/M, People Pleaser Lance, Selfless Lance, Sexually Confident Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingTypewriter/pseuds/BleedingTypewriter
Summary: Lance is selfless to a fault, especially in bed. Keith helps him be a little selfish for once.Part of a series of edited/updated threads from Twitter.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Regarding Twitter (NSFW) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744681
Comments: 8
Kudos: 285





	Regarding Lance's Orgasms

**Author's Note:**

> "Regarding Twitter" is a series of my favourite threads updated, lightly edited, and tagged. All original versions are available on my account [here.](https://twitter.com/BleedingType/status/1199399029395709952) Length and tone varies as Twitter is where I tend to play and explore.

When they first get together, Lance doesn’t know how to tell Keith what he likes in bed, because he has no idea.

It’s not for lack of experience. The guy may be a cheese ball, but he’s a _charming_ cheese ball. He’s had his share of partners: men, women, both, neither; his cartoonish bravado did come from _somewhere_.

And for the most part, he’s had fun. He’s a boisterous extrovert, dependent on others to recharge, and the vast majority of his one-night stands have been like a straight hit of caffeine. He’s always felt awake afterward; refreshed and satisfied and a little buzzed.

In a way.

Just maybe not in the usual way.

He can count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten off with a partner. Usually he’s ended up faking a stiff spine and a long groan, and tossed an empty condom into the garbage, or else been able to wave his lack of orgasm away. _It’s just been a long week, I guess. Don’t worry, I had fun._

Which is true. He _has_ had fun.

He loves spreading people out and taking them apart; loves bending over coquettishly if it’s what they want, or teasing from below like a brat, or climbing on top with orders to stay still. He loves whatever his partner loves. He loves getting people off—whatever that process might entail is an afterthought.

And he’s good at it; so good that it’s easy to ease their dazed hands away, to murmur, “It’s okay, let me,” and go down on them again until they’ve forgotten that he’s still hard.

He likes feeling _good enough_.

It had been painfully awkward the couple of times he’d let someone else take control. He hadn’t wanted to correct them (had wanted to make it _good enough_ , wanted to be perfect for them). So he’d hidden his winces and bitten down on his _slower_ s and _faster_ s and generally enjoyed himself a lot more when he’d climbed back on top and whispered, “How do you like it?” and basked in their wordless, moaned praise.

So when he and Keith start up, he doesn’t know quite how to handle it when, mid-make out in Lance’s room, Keith pulls back and says seriously, “Look, I haven’t done this a lot, so you’re going to need to tell me what you want.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you,” Lance says, and makes to push him into his back.

But Keith resists with a snort. “Fuck _that_ , I’m not a pillow princess. If you think I’m not going to blow your fucking mind, you’re insane.”

Lance smirks. “Oh, is that what you want?” He melts a little backward; let’s himself shrink just a little. “You want to be in control?”

He expects it to do what it always does for people who like it this way: he expects Keith to go a little slack-jawed and still and then _pounce_. He doesn’t expect the suspicious, hesitant look Keith gives him, or the way he very specifically shuffles an inch away.

“I want to know what makes _you_ feel good.”

“Making you feel good _is_ what makes me feel good.”

“That’s not what I–” Keith cuts himself off with a huff. “Lance, if I’m going to suck your dick, I’d like to know how you like it sucked.”

Lance opens his mouth. Closes it.

The truth is, he doesn’t _know_.

He’s thought about it, of course: Keith looking up at him, lips stretched around Lance’s cock, eyes watering. Or maybe not; maybe eyes dry and dominant. Whatever he’s into. _Anything_ he’s into. He’s never thought about the act itself, only about what it would mean for Keith. Fast, slow, hard, teasing...these things don’t factor into Lance’s fantasies beyond how they might get Keith off.

“I mean...how do you like to suck dick?”

Something in Keith’s gaze softens even as it takes on a strangely competitive edge. “You don’t know what you want, do you?”

Keith can’t relate.

He doesn’t have much in the way of experience, but it’s mostly because he hadn’t seen the point unless it would be mutually beneficial. Why fuck unless it was going to be guaranteed a good time? Fucking could be messy, too mixed up with things like _feelings_ that he’d hadn’t seen the point in having before Lance. He’d only bothered when he could be sure of a good romp with a man he’d never see again.

So he’d almost immediately gotten the hang of asking for what he wants. “Not like that,” he’d gritted the first time, frustrated that his hip was cramping and the guy kept changing tempo, slowing as if he were rocking Keith’s world instead of just hanging it at an odd angle as his head had mashed up against the door in the back seat they’d been in. He’d flipped their positions, and sighed, “Right _there_ , like _that_ ,” and realized the futility in hoping for a mind reader as a hook-up as he’d ridden them both to a decent orgasm.

“Has no one ever asked you what you want before?”

Lance swallows. “It’s not that...I, uh...”

Keith can see the discomfort in the tense line of his shoulders. It’s not the kind of tension he’s after. “You really want to know what’d get me off?”

Lance nods.

“Knowing what gets _you_ off.”

Keith inches closer again.

“Knowing _exactly_ what gets you off.”

Lance’s mouth starts to feel dry. He realizes that he’s breathing through it. He licks his lips with a tacky sound. “I don’t–”

“ _Finding out_ what gets you off.”

Their thighs are touching again. Keith’s hands are on his neck, thumbs on either side of his throat.

“Having you tell me everything,” he kisses him, “in detail,” he nips at his bottom lip, “that you’ve never told anyone else,” he looks him right in the eye, “about what gets you off.”

Lance sighs shakily. “This is a good start...”

And Keith is a man of his word.

He lets Lance lay him out the way he likes; tells Lance exactly where to touch him and how and how long. But then he pulls him up until he’s straddling Keith’s shoulders, and mutters, “Fuck my mouth,” and refuses to fucking move or react or _anything_. He looks up at Lance expectantly, mouth open, and murmurs, “I’m only getting off when you do, now fuck my mouth the way you want to.”

And for the first time, Lance does.

He fucks in slow at first, making sure Keith can take it, watching for signs of pleasure or pain. But those dark eyes just stay locked on his, waiting, and after a while he picks up the pace. He gets a rhythm going, and the first time he lets out a little, “Y-yeah,” Keith looks _so_ fucking pleased (as pleased as one can with a cock in their mouth) and reaches down to start stroking himself.

And oh.

That’s nice.

Lance pulls his hips back so Keith is forced to focus more on the head, and at his little groan of approval Keith’s hand speeds up. He realizes, then, that Keith is only giving himself pleasure when Lance takes it and–

_Oh_.

That’s _nice_.

“Your tongue,” he gasps, and he’s pretty sure his hips have lost their rhythm, but it doesn’t matter because Keith’s arm, working away where Lance can’t see it, certainly hasn’t. “Under the–...I need you to–...“ He’s not used to this, to asking, but Keith gets it anyway and laves the spot right under his head. “I’m gonna come.” Lance says it like it’s a shock, because it kind of is. “Fuck, you’re actually gonna make me come if you keep going like that...”

Keith does. His jaw must be aching and his neck must be sore from such an extreme angle and Lance is pretty sure he feels a tug under his left knee that means he’s landed on Keith’s hair at some point, but he _keeps going_ in a way that Lance has never felt (has never known to ask for).

But what really does it is when Keith moans (moans right around his fucking cock, and okay, that feels good enough that he’ll swallow his pride and ask for it again a hundred times over). And his eyes clench shut and his suction increases even though he’s been so intent on keeping it at the exact level that’s been doing it for Lance, and a couple telltale drops splatter against Lance’s legs, and he realizes Keith is coming. Keith is coming _right now_ , with Lance’s cock in his mouth, and it’s because Lance is getting off on it; because his pleasure is Keith’s pleasure is his pleasure and–

It’s always felt like it might be degrading, so he’s never really considered it, but Lance is struck by the image of come— _his_ come, holy shit—dripping down over those cheeks, trailing down that pale throat (the same one he’s inside of, _holy shit_ ).

“Can I–” he stutters as he pulls out and starts working himself over, the tip of his dick red and wet and tapping against Keith’s chin on every stroke. “Fuck, I want to–...is it okay if I–...?”

Keith looks drugged. He’s loose in the wake of his orgasm, and looking up at Lance with a dazed, single-minded desire. He reaches up and Lance can feel his come on his hand as he massages his balls. “I want you to do it,” he coaxes. “I want you to come all over me the way you want to.”

Lance does; so hard he almost misses Keith entirely.

He comes over the pillow and onto the headboard. He barely has the presence of mind to tilt himself lower on the next pulse, to watch Keith flinch one eye closed and take it, take everything he has left as he empties himself over his face and into his mouth.

It’s an odd sensation for him: liking the act; liking the way Keith looks all fucked out and covered in Lance’s come; liking, too, the way Keith has clearly enjoyed himself, but that’s secondary to the heaviness in his own limbs.

“One down,” Keith says sleepily, after they’ve cleaned up and there are only a few spots of flaking come left that they’ll find in the morning (in silly little places, like behind Keith’s ear and Lance’s knee, and it’ll set them off chuckling and then searching for other missed spots, and they’ll create a few more before they manage to head down for a shower and breakfast).

Lance pulls him closer with a quizzical hum.

“That’s one thing that gets you off,” Keith explains with a wicked grin. “I’m going to enjoy finding the others.”

Lance laughs a little breathlessly. “Me, too.”


End file.
